


at least i've got you in my head

by NapsterBlook



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crushes, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Oblivious!Yuri Plisetsky, Platonic Cuddling, Slow Burn, Subtle Whump, Time Skips, Timeline starts just after WTTM, Unrequited to Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NapsterBlook/pseuds/NapsterBlook
Summary: He wants to see all the parts of Yuri no one else gets to see, the jubilant, the exhausted, the introspective. He doesn’t want to let this moment go. He doesn’t want to hop on to a plane in the next day or so and have Yuri forget about him all over again. It happened once, it could happen again.He won’t let it this time.-Five times Otabek and Yuri fall asleep together and one time they wake up.





	1. even when you're next to me

When he steps out of the restroom, hair wet from the shower, Yuri is tapping away lightly on his phone, lying on his stomach above the covers. As he lowers himself onto the other half of the bed he can’t help but notice the strategically placed pillow that creates a fluffy barrier between where Yuri’s lying and where he is. Yuri snaps out of his phone-induced reverie, looking up as the same seven-second audio clip keeps looping and looping out loud.

Otabek must have fucking question marks inside of his pupils because Yuri immediately starts explaining, “— In case I, you know, kick around or something. I’m pretty chaotic when I’m sleeping, just warning you.” He tilts his head a bit, “I hope that’s…” Otabek’s mind had immediately assumed the worst. That his five-year-and-still-counting-crush somehow _knows_  and now thinks he’s some big _creep_  for thinking they’d spend the night spooning or some shit. _Calm down. He met you barely two days ago. Even if he did just bite your glove off on live television._  

“It’s fine,” He says after too long of a pause, making the words sound too sharp, too forceful. “I could sleep like the dead right now so you won’t bug me either way.”

Yuri gives him a calm smile, mumbling, “Yeah, me too.” He goes right back to scrolling down whatever is on his phone. Otabek leans against the headboard and looks at him.

Anybody who saw Yuri tearing it up on the ice just hours before wouldn’t have believed this was the same person. The residual makeup made his eyes look tired and droopy. Blonde hair curls in wisps around his face, released earlier from its messy bun when Otabek stole the elastic and stretched the band out like he was about to fire it at him. It sent Yuri shrieking and gleefully running down the hotel hallway. (He’d played along even though he wasn’t _actually_  planning on shooting, happy just to see him grinning so freely, high on the adrenaline of his impromptu exhibition.)

The iconic and “controversial” costume was balled up somewhere on Otabek’s hotel room floor, shorn off for a roomier hoodie and pajama bottoms. The hoodie was— debatably — Otabek’s. Yuri had been wearing it since he lent it to him on the beach outside of his gig, and he had put it right back on as soon as he could get out of his costume. Without even asking.

Regardless, the hoodie looked very cute on him. He almost couldn’t look straight at him for fear he’d see the aggressive heart-eyes he was definitely sporting.

He’s not even sure if _he_ can believe this is the same person, who greeted him with an “what’s with you,  _asshole_ “ and later after that talked excitedly through hours of sunlit sidewalks and cups of tea. His green eyes sparkled the entire time. Current Yuri is calmer, softer somehow, not buzzing with constant, excess energy. And Otabek alone gets to see this side of him, tonight.

And he's waited _so_ long for this. Their time together is closing so violently fast, he isn’t even mad about staying up the past eighteen hours just to help him practice for his exhibition. Why would he be? If he could steal more time, he would.

Because he wants to see all the parts of Yuri no one else gets to see, the jubilant, the exhausted, the introspective. He doesn’t want to let this moment go. He doesn’t want to hop on to a plane in the next day or so and have Yuri forget about him all over again. It happened once, it could happen again.

He won’t let it this time.

No matter how many times his eyes may have drifted closed, he stays up long enough to see Yuri’s head drop onto the pillow, phone slipping out of his hands, the screen dimming and then a minute or so later blackening. Smiling to himself, he flicked the lights off, first on his side, then leaning over Yuri’s deeply breathing body to plunge the room into darkness. 

Against his better judgement, he lets his fingers sink into the fine, blonde hairs settled over Yuri’s forehead, pushing them behind his ear. Retracting his hand and hovering over the pale face, the light eyelashes, the button nose, he decides that someday, this boy will be his.

But for now, this is enough.


	2. it's not the way i'm picturing

“I’m sorry. We can’t be friends anymore.”

“Yura.”

“Not after what you just did to me. You’re un-fucking-believable."

“Yu-u-ra…"

“I will never trust or love again.”

“Eighth place isn’t bad.” He reassured. “It’s not last.”

“Don’t even try to fight me on this, Beka. You blue-shelled me in cold blood.”

Otabek shifted closer to him on the couch, trying to get a look at his face as he was turned away, arms crossed in contempt. Sighing, his eyes drifted over to his TV, which displayed a message reading “Communications with the Wii Remote have been interrupted” (—Courtesy of Yuri Plisetsky chucking his at the floor in a fit of Mario-Kart induced rage). 

“You’ve barely been in Almaty for a day and you’ve already condemned our relationship. What are you gonna do the rest of your visit?” He saw just a flash of a smirk breaking through Yuri’s bitter facade and he knew he got him. “I should get one of those chalkboard displays. ‘It has been: Zero hours since Yuri called off our friendship.’” Yuri snorted and smacked his shoulder. 

“Whatever, Altin. You know I was kidding.” His smile faded a little. “But, uh, sorry for throwing your controller.” 

“It’s fine. That’s probably the most exciting thing it’s ever been through.”

“Over what, you sabotaging our friendship so you could get to third place?” He shot back, flashing a smirk at him.

“Third’s better than losing to Waluigi and you know it.” Otabek received a swift pillow to the face for this comment, and he’d never smiled harder in his life. 

Pouting at Otabek’s giddy, breathy laughter, Yuri sank back into the overstuffed couch. He couldn’t help but think Yuri looked absolutely precious, nearly engulfed by all the padding with such a sour expression on his face. 

“We should move on to movies. It’ll help me forget I’m spending the offseason with a traitor.”     

“You’ll get over it eventually.” Still grinning, he stood up. “Popcorn?”

“Uh— ”The younger was already pulling his phone out, thumbs flying fast over the keys. “— I’m  _supposed_  to be keeping up my diet. Guess Yakov thinks I’ll get like Piggy does during the offseason."

Brows furrowing, Otabek reaches out and touches the bottom of Yuri’s chin. “Hey, quit that. You’re tiny, anyway.” Yuri’s fingers stopped moving, hovering still over his phone. His glass green eyes were wide, inquisitive. Realizing it was his gesture and not his words that had earned him that look, he withdrew his hand quickly. “I’ll- I’ll be right back.” He didn’t notice Yuri staring after him as he rushed out.

Watching the popcorn rotate inside of the microwave, crackling softly, Otabek had plenty of time to wallow in the embarrassment of his actions. Realistically, it wasn’t a big deal. Friends could caress each other’s faces. Platonically. As friends do. 

It was just for a moment, that he thought he had finally been caught out. But taking their entire day into account, he reasoned that he probably wasn’t in danger of his feelings being discovered anytime soon. 

He had hoped, perhaps in vain, that Operation “Invite Your Crush to Almaty for The Offseason, Show Him Around Town by Taking Him on Borderline Dates and Hope That He Gets The Picture Before You Actually Have to Voice Your Feelings” would work out in his favor. Turns out either Yuri was awful at noticing or acknowledging romantic advances, or Otabek himself was awful at carrying them out. 

That, or Yuri  _was_ noticing, and Yuri was having an awkward time trying not to crush his feelings by rejecting him outright.

Otabek grimaced as he poured the steaming bag of popcorn into a plastic bowl. He hadn’t planned for that outcome. (Mentally, Operation “Try Not to Cry" was starting to form. Just in case.)

 Yuri was sprawled out on his couch when he returned, long legs stretched out so that he had to nudge them out of the way so he could sit down. Sock-clad feet settled onto his lap instead. He set the popcorn bowl on Yuri’s stomach so he could fish the remote out from between his cushions.

 “Swear to god. It’s like they post things to disgust me on purpose.” Yuri muttered before throwing a piece of popcorn in the air and trying to catch it in his mouth. 

 “Who?” Retrieving the remote, he turned to look at the Instagram post Yuri was showing him. It was Yuuri and Viktor posing in front of some kind of monument which he couldn’t entirely make out— it blurred into the background, Viktor planting a kiss onto Yuuri’s flushed cheek having taken up most of the foreground. All PDA aside, he genuinely thought the engaged couple was cute together. Clearly Yuri thought different, his lips curled up in a sort of snarl. “What’s wrong with it?”

 Yuri took his phone back, glancing down at the post again, “You know. They get all lovey-dovey and then they expect everybody to coo over them.”

 “Maybe they don’t even realize they’re doing it.” He didn’t quite understand why a relationship like that seemed so  _unpleasant_  to Yuri. “That’s kind of what love does to people.”

 “Yeah,” Yuri huffed, “That’s why it’s dumb and gross and I can’t fucking stand it.” And that struck him somewhere deep in his core. Because he wanted to have that dumb, gross love with Yuri. 

 (Okay, maybe not with as much PDA as Yuuri and Viktor engage in, he always did like his privacy.)

 He wanted to— to hold his hand. Send him fifty love songs on a playlist. Kiss him Good Morning, and Good Night. Kiss his nose and cheeks and lips and wake up next to him in bed with bars of sunlight shining on his hair. There was a great possibility that Yuri would never want that with him, but it was more discouraging to think Yuri would never want that at all. That maybe he never had a chance in the first place.

 “Beka?” A dainty foot poked at his thigh. Fuck, he’d been quiet for too long.

 “Ah, sorry.” He said, recovering as best he could from the awkward silence. “I just thought what you said was funny.”

 “Hah?”

 “For someone who calls them ‘dumb and gross’ you sure seem to care a lot about what goes on in their lives.” A wry smile creeped onto his face.

 “I do not!”

 “Said the guy who still follows both of them on Instagram. And texts them weekly if not daily.” 

 “…So.” The boy was seething again.

 “Yura.  I’m pretty sure Viktor is listed as one of the emergency contacts on your phone.” Yuri just gave him an icy glare, knowing he couldn’t deny that one. 

 “…They’re not my friends.” He says quietly, after Otabek scrolls through a few of the movies on his recommended list. “They’re not like— Like you.”

 Something burst inside of his chest, all warm and tingly. “They’re not?” Yuri shakes his head, picking black polish off of his nails. Almost shy. “What do you mean?”

 Taking a moment to think, Yuri sat up, moving the popcorn bowl to between his thighs. Sighed in a slow inhale, exhale. “Before you, no one ever treated me like… I wasn’t some punk kid. Like I was their equal or whatever.” Otabek searched his eyes intently, leaning forward to show he was listening. The room felt so still. “Being around other people, sometimes it’s— tiring. I feel like I’m always trying to prove myself I guess. But with you it’s like, I can relax. Sometimes I don’t even realize that I’m doing it.” Yuri smiled a bit bashfully, “No one’s ever given that to me before. With you I can just… Be.”

 So many thoughts start roiling in his head, clamoring for a response. A part of him is saying  _tell him, tell him now you idiot before it's too late_ and another part says  _if you tell him now and he doesn_ ’ _t_ want  _you, you’ll take that away from him. The one place and one person he can be himself around, do you really want that, Otabek?_

 Then he’s reaching for the small, pale hand and encloses it with his, not interlacing the fingers, just pressing their palms together gently. He swallows.

 “Good. I don’t want you to be anyone but Yuri. Around me. Around anyone.” And, because he knows he’s feeling vulnerable, not used to sharing his emotions so freely, and because he feels he might say more if he has to look into Yuri’s eyes like that any longer: “From what I heard he’s pretty dope.” He succeeds in dispelling the tension in Yuri's shoulders, a bright laugh shaking them.

 “Shut up and pick a movie already, you nerd.” He says, squeezing his hand and flopping back down on the couch.

* * *

 

The credits are rolling, the text on the black screen not bright enough to illuminate the dark room completely, and Yuri’s getting drowsy on his shoulder. Trying to extricate himself from the couch without jostling Yuri too much proves futile, his head is heavy on him and as soon as he moves to stand, the blonde’s head slips from his shoulder down to his lap. “Beka,” He whines. Otabek shushes him and ruffles soft, golden strands.

 “You can sleep if you want. I was just gonna get ready for—“

 “No,” Yuri says sleepily, pulling him down with surprising strength. “Stay. I wanna talk to you some more.” They both manage to lay down, Otabek with his back to the couch, toe to toe and chest to chest with Yuri. He doesn’t remember most of what they talked about the next morning, just that Yuri was breathing warm by his neck the entire time, and eventually a lull came over them just as the music from the credits faded out.

 He was counting out each breath that puffed against his neck to distract himself from the proximity, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, thirteen, thirteen?— when Yuri started speaking again.

 “Beka?” His voice was small.

 “Yeah?” Yuri pulled away to look at his face through the darkness.

 “You know you’re my best friend, right?"

 With his heart soaring and sinking at the same time, reminded of his place and role in Yuri’s life, wanting to be  _more_  and wanting to be there for him at the same time, he replies: “Of course."

“Am I your best friend?”

 Otabek, wanting badly to place a kiss on his forehead or cheek, nods, not trusting himself to speak.

 Yuri nuzzles into his chest and falls asleep, encircled by his arms, satisfied. He follows suit, finding that he’s anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stay tuned for: a POV change, a realization from yuri, and the Mutual Pining tag actually becoming accurate  
> what do you think the boys would watch for movie night?


	3. i dont wanna talk about it

Yakov has barely called him off the ice for a break when he glides toward the benches, stumbling as he puts his skate guards on. Yuri dives for his phone, glaring upon the screen for what seems like the Nth time today.  _No new messages._ He blows strands of hair out of his face, dampened to his forehead with sweat. Unlocking his phone, he physically opens his inbox on the off chance that his phone just neglected to show him any notifications (which actually may not be too off, he thinks, it’s bound to be a little glitchy after throwing it against walls and floors weekly). A quick glance shows that his phone hasn’t quite gone off the deep end yet, their last conversation beaming back at him. 

 

… — 

beka (8:24 PM);  ** _But you liked it right?_**

you (8:25 PM);  ** _are you kidding_**

you (8:25 PM);  ** _i listened to the whole thing in one sitting_**

beka (8:27 PM);  ** _Yura??_**

beka (8:27 PM); ** _The set is almost 4 hours long._**

**** you (8:28 PM); ** _so_**

you (8:28 PM); ** _i was at practice ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  and it was amazing anyway_**

beka (8:30 PM);  ** _That’s actually quite sweet of you_**

beka (8:30 PM);  ** _Be careful, you may be jeopardizing your bad boy reputation ;)_**

you (8:31 PM);  ** _!! it was actually rly good!! fuck me for being nice to u :|_**

beka (8:32 PM); ** _jk jk :P It means a lot to me yura._**

beka (8:38 PM);  ** _It’s getting late for me here. Heading off to bed soon_**

you (8:42 PM);  ** _yea guess it is getting too late for you old man_**

you (8:45 PM);  ** _night beka_**

beka (8:57 PM);  ** _goodnight жаным_**  

     Wednesday 6:04 AM

you;  ** _morning beka_**

you (7:20 AM);  ** _what’s up?_**  

Opening his snapchat and willing the desired ringtone to go off proves futile as well, so he tosses his phone back into his bag and rummages around for that energy bar he  _knew_ he threw in there this morning— 

“You’re doing the thing.” Yuri twitched, leaning back as fiery red hair took up most of his vision. 

“Doing what,  _баба_?” He spat. Mila flopped down beside him as he was ripping open the snack with his teeth. 

“The compulsive phone-checking. It’s usually something Georgi does when he’s got a new lady friend.” She says casually, a smug white grin on her face. Yuri grunts, affronted, and swipes away crumbs of granola on his cheeks. He squints at his phone and pretends to be reading a headline.

“Breaking news: Millennial glued to his phone.” Mila flicks his arm. “Also new tonight: water still wet.”

“Haha, very funny.” Her tone gets all soft and gooey and  _gross,_ “You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you, right? You seem kinda off today.” Yuri resists the urge to look up at her, still pretending to scroll through something important on his phone. If anyone were to notice an off day with him it would be her, aside from his coaches obviously. She’s always been strangely perceptive with him, like a weird annoying older sister. She’s known him almost as long as he’s known the ice, the closest he has to a childhood friend. He has to admit it’s nice to have someone who just  _gets_ it, and sometimes it seems she’s the only one who will.

Well, until someone came around. A someone who hasn’t replied to his texts in 36 hours.

“Yura?” He hasn’t noticed her slender hand on his shoulder blade, “C’mon, what’s wrong little guy?”

“Don’t call me that,” He groans, quickly shutting his phone but not before she catches the two unopened snaps, and more importantly, the name at the top of the screen.

“Ohhh,” She breathes, as if coming upon a profound revelation, “Is it about— what do you call him? The cute nickname? Beks?”

“— Beka,” He supplies, begrudgingly. “And yeah.” Leaning forward, elbows on her knees, she blinks up at him expectantly. 

“I’m listening.” 

Yuri takes a deep breath, and now that he’s actually forced to think about the cause of his distress… It’s all pretty dumb. The thought of saying it out loud makes his soul curdle, but now Mila’s  _invested_ and that means she won’t let him hear the end of it until he tells her what’s going on. 

“He hasn’t answered any of my texts.” He prepares for peals of laughter, for teasing, but it doesn’t come. Mila has switched to resting her chin on top of clasped hands.

“… And?”

Sensing an inkling of judgement in just that one syllable, he says defensively, “W-Well he usually texts me all day, or at least tells me if he’s gonna be busy and can’t. And this is the longest we’ve gone without some form of—“

“How long?”

“Uhm,” He’s been keeping track of the exact hours, but he settles for, “Two days? Little less?”

“You sure he isn’t just more busy than usual? You both have pretty full schedules with season coming up anyway.”

“We were supposed to Skype tonight…” Yuri mumbles weakly, knowing she’s probably right and he’s overthinking Otabek’s radio silence too much.

“Whoa, you guys have like, scheduled Skype dates?” She sits up and pulls a hairbrush out of her own bag, gesturing for Yuri to turn his back to her. Closing his eyes as he feels the plastic bristles run through his hair, he exhales. 

“Dates they are not, but yeah.” It hadn’t occurred to him that that was unusual for friends to do. “Is that weird?” 

“No, not at all. I just didn’t know you guys were  _that_ close.” Okay, he has no idea what that is supposed to mean. That close? “And you certainly don’t text  _me_ dusk ’til dawn like you’re saying. I’m kinda jealous.” Yuri hums, unamused, which earns a strand of blonde hair a light tug. 

After a few minutes, consisting of Mila brushing through his hair and him finishing his granola bar, he turns back to her as she’s pushing her hair up into a high ponytail. Her freshly shaved undercut peeks out from beneath curly red strands. “I guess part of me is less mad that he hasn’t replied and more worried that something happened. Like maybe I said something that ticked him off, or maybe he fell during practice and…” He trails off as she slowly shakes her head.

“Venturing out of the land of worst-case scenarios… Have you considered he might have someone else he’s preoccupied with?” When he blinks at her, she rolls her eyes. "Y’know. A girlfriend, maybe?"

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It could explain why he’s not as active with you. He’s spending all that energy somewhere else.”

Yuri frowns.  _Could_ Otabek be getting tired of him? “That’s stupid. If he had a girlfriend I’d be the first to know.”  _And if he was using that as an excuse to ignore me I swear to god…_ It’s startling how much the idea of that immediately gets under his skin.

Shrugging, she stands up as they’re called back on the ice. “Just a thought.” Bending down to place a hand on his shoulder, she looks into his eyes, “Don’t think about it too hard, okay? We’re all busy skaters, Yurochka. Keeping in touch 24/7 might be overwhelming for him. Just give it some time, yeah?” Mila turns and slides back onto the rink, leaving him alone to tie his skates and mutter obscenities to himself.

“Whatever,  _баба.”_ Nonetheless, he powers his phone all the way off, and follows her onto the ice soon after.

 

* * *

 

Yuri lets it reboot while he's in the shower, resolutely not checking on it until he’s fully dried and dressed. He definitely does not squeal when he sees that he has four new messages on his screen. Spitefully making him wait, Yuri takes his sweet time giving Potya a full body cat massage. At another buzz from his phone, he jumps and makes the cat jump off the side of the bed. Sighing, he slowly reaches over and unlocks it. 

     Thursday 6:32 PM

beka (6:32 PM);  ** _Hey_**

beka (6:32 PM);  ** _Sorry some crazy shit happened :(_**

beka (6:33 PM);  ** _I’ll explain when we call it’s kinda weird to explain over text_**

beka (6:48 PM);  ** _You’re still down to skype right?_**

beka (7:00 PM);  ** _Yuraaa_**

Biting his lip, he considers being petty and ignoring him a little longer, but he ends up shooting a curt text back saying he’s ready to call, already pulling his computer out from under the covers. As he’s waiting for the ring tone to sound off, he realizes he’s fiddling with his hair, putting it up behind his ears. Otabek once said he liked to see his eyes when they talked (or was it just that he liked his eyes?). Scowling, he let his bangs fall back in front of his face. His fingers hovered over the trackpad, clicking rapidly to accept the call as soon as the button appeared. As the grainy image becomes visible, he notices right away that Beka isn’t in his room. None of his posters or vinyls or shelves of books and CDs can be seen on the wall behind him.

What he sees instead makes his eyes widen, and following the IV tube up to Beka’s arm confirms that he is where he thinks he is. “Holy shit. A-Are you in the hospital right now?” His stomach twists painfully because he was right, something awful happened and he had no way of knowing, he shouldn’t have believed stupid Mila—

“Hey, relax, relax. It’s nothing serious.” The camera shifts— presumably it’s Beka’s laptop sitting in front of him— and he starts explaining in a rush, as if he’s dealt with this exact reaction several times today: “I came in yesterday for a concussion and they kept me overnight just to be safe, nothing’s wrong, I’ll probably be released later tonight or tomorrow morning.” It tugs at Yuri’s heart, how quick he is to deflect worry away from himself. It’s just like him not to want any fuss over an injury like this- but fuck that, he’s allowed to be concerned for his friend!

“How?” Yuri searches the screen in front of him for clues. There are no bandages, casts, or gauze, just the IVs, and Beka’s mussed hair and dark eye circles.

“Took a fall on the ice and hit my head pretty good, that’s all.” Beka lets out a sheepish laugh at the distraught look Yuri gives him, “I know, rookie mistake. Then I was out for, I’d say a little less than an hour?— ” He pauses for Yuri’s muttered “oh my god,” “— And they decided it was best to keep monitoring me for a bit because I was unconscious for so long.”

“But you’re gonna be okay?” 

“Of course. They said I checked out fine.” As if he could feel Yuri’s skepticism radiating through his computer screen, he laughed again. “I’ve mostly been sleeping here. Ruminating over the lost practice time.” He sure didn’t  _look_ like it. His friend looked exhausted, in fact. What time was it over there, anyway? Ten at night?

“Shit, Beka. I’m sorry. So you’re off the ice for a while?” Beka nodded his head, his mouth pressed into a straight line.

Once Yuri is positive his friend isn't in danger of dying, they lapse slowly into more casual conversation. Yuri notices that some kind of weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It might just be that he knows his friend is, for the most part, okay, or that he knows for sure that Otabek hadn’t been purposefully ignoring him that whole time (which he feels slightly guilty for thinking, now). It keeps nagging at him, the reason why he always feels so at ease whenever Otabek is talking to him. Sure, he is his best (and only) friend, but he's starting to think there must be other reasons.

The next lull in their conversation, Yuri lets a thought slip out, unfiltered, “I was worried about you. When you weren’t responding all day.”

He sees Beka’s eyebrows go up a bit, "What, did you just assume the worst?”

Fuck. He really wishes he could keep his mouth shut… “No, I mean…I got used to talking to you all the time. It felt wrong not to…” It was true; he never noticed how much the mundane texts or dumb memes they sent each other meant to him until they were gone suddenly. Hell, even not receiving a simple  _good morning_ text had put him in a bad mood for at least a few hours. Was it normal to be so needy with your friends? With your best friend? A smile he could only describe as smug spread across Beka’s face. “What?” 

“So you missed me.” A statement, not a question. Not like he could  _really_ argue.

“Hmm,” Yuri leaned his cheek into his hand, “I think somewhere deep down in my shriveled, blackened soul, I did miss you, yeah.”

The sound of Beka chuckling filters through his speaker. “I’m gone for a day and this is what it comes to?"

 “Don’t get too flattered over it.” He grumbled, trying not to look at the screen. “And don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you gored yourself on the ice! You better be back in shape by the time season rolls in.” Beka snorts, running his hand through hair. Yuri almost winces, seeing the IV tube move with it. Though he feels significantly better now, pieces of his conversation with Mila are bouncing around in his head. It’s been bothering him ever since, actually. “...Can I ask you kind of a weird question?”

“Shoot.” Beka looks straight into the camera; something he always does when he wants Yuri to know he’s listening. The gaze doesn’t bring him any comfort this time though, so he looks down at his hands.

“Does it annoy you sometimes? That I’m always texting or calling?” The ensuing silence makes his face get hot with embarrassment.

“Yura. Look at me.” He does. Beka’s brows are gently furrowed, expression somewhere between troubled and concerned. “The only reason I’m talking to you right now is because I  _want_ to. I  _like_ talking to you. Believe me, if I thought any different, I wouldn’t be skyping you from a hospital bed right now.” Yuri chewed on his bottom lip, surprised he was answering so passionately, so genuinely. Well, he really shouldn’t be, his Beka has never shown himself to be anything but. 

“I don’t know. I thought I might be wasting your time.” Beka lets out an offended huff before he even completes that sentence.

“Not even a chance,  _жаным.”_ He’s certain that Beka can’t see him blush with how low res his webcam is, but he still tries to hide behind a curtain of blonde hair. He’s familiar with the Kazakh word Beka uses for him sometimes, though he doesn’t know what it means. When it rolls off of his tongue it leaves a warm feeling in his stomach and makes his cheeks heat up, which probably means its something good. 

“You still haven’t told me what that means. Jan- Janim?” Stumbling over the word, it doesn’t sound half as good or as meaningful as it does when Beka says it. His friend smirks, rubbing the back of his head. He’s always given Yuri the same answer: _there’s not really a direct translation, it’s just a friendly nick name is all, etc._ He skirts around the topic of the word’s meaning, making it highly suspicious and thus ten times more intriguing to Yuri.

“I already told you; there’s no good way of describing it. It’s got its own flavor in the Kazakh language.” He shrugs smugly, shutting down his worthy inquiries. Yuri rolls his eyes. Fine. He’s not opposed to looking for answers on his own. Opening up a smaller window, he starts typing out the word phonetically and seeing what comes up. “Yura? You have your ‘I’m doing this out of pure spite’ face on.”

“I’m looking for a translation. When best friends fail, use the internet.” Granted, he’s scrolling past a few odd music videos and seemingly unrelated Turkish forums, so the internet isn’t proving  _too_ useful.  

“Don’t try too hard, now. You don’t even know how to spell—“

“ _жаным,_ ” He reads, completely butchering it again, “Sweetheart,  _beloved_? What are you, Edgar Allen Poe?”

“My soul,” Beka blurts out, “It means ‘My soul’.” Yuri’s already taking it and running with it.

“I had no idea you felt that way about me,” He teases, clicking out of the page so he could watch Beka get all flustered in full screen, his head in his hands.

“Its— not like that, exactly. It’s like a casual term of endearment? Like, I’ll call my friends  _жаным,_ or sometimes my family—“

“Chill, I know what you mean. I wasn’t gonna take Google translate over your word anyway.” Beka looks up suddenly.

“… Does it. Make you uncomfortable? When I call you that?” 

“What? No? It doesn’t mean anything bad, so…” Because Beka looks visibly relieved, he adds on, “I actually like it. A lot.”

“All right. Good. Good…” He wasn’t sure, but he  _swore_ Beka was blushing just then. The boy’s eyes flicked over to something out of view, “Ah, it’s gotten pretty late Yura. We should probably get some rest.”

“Oh…“ He sighed, accompanied by a fake pout, hoping Beka got the message.  _And he says I’m not clingy._

The helpless smile Beka gives him makes his heart jump. Something must be going on with him today… “You want me to talk to you until you fall asleep?”

Yuri grins, he doesn’t know why he bothers asking. They always do this when they call, talking about nothing until late at night or when either of them nods off. For some reason it’s comforting to fall asleep to the sound of Beka’s voice.  

Lying on his stomach with a pillow under his chest, he plugs in his headphones and lets the soft rumble of his friend’s voice lull him to sleep, his responses getting sleepier and farther apart, until his light snoring is the only thing his microphone picks up. Otabek looks fondly at the blonde head of hair, eyes warm.

“Sweet dreams,  _жаным.”_

* * *

 

Potya is purring on his chest when he wakes up, only deciding to move when his owner starts sputtering to get cat hair out of his mouth. Disentangling himself from the headphone cord (it was almost wrapped around his neck from not taking them out of his damn ears last night), he orients himself before noticing his open laptop. Once his eyes readjust to the brightness, he can see it’s still open to his Skype account, showing the time of their last call.  _1:42:03 Minutes_. He was left to stare at that screen, to think about that call,  _everything_ about yesterday hitting him all at once. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something about their friendship, their relationship had changed. Maybe it changed last night. Maybe it had been different for a while and he didn’t notice, and the events of the past few days knocked him back into reality.

Yuri only knew something was different. About the way they were, the way he felt.

It was terrifying. It was terrifying not to know what this change was, what this  _feeling_ was. He had an idea, but the more he thought about the possibility of it the more the anxiety bubbled up and the more he wanted to bury all those thoughts somewhere dark and far away.

He was in too deep for that, now. He needed help. But the only person he might dream of asking for it was also the one person he just… Couldn’t tell. His heart sank with guilt. His best friend. They were supposed to tell each other everything. 

Digging his phone out from under the covers, he inhaled deeply. He could be strong, he’s dealt with way worse than a few  _weird feelings_ before. 

     Friday 5:03 AM

you; _**~~hey beka can we~~ |   ~~i know we called just last night but~~ | i need to talk about something that's been bothering me ~~for a while~~  for a few days. skype again tonight?**_

After staring up at the message for a few minutes, he sighs and deletes it in its entirety. Throwing his phone to the side, he gazes up at his ceiling fan. It can wait. These feelings might even subside before he makes a gigantic fool out of himself. 

He throws an arm over his eyes, groaning quietly. Who is he kidding. He is so incredibly, royally fucked. 

Yuri Plisetsky is fucked over his best friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> жаным = zhanym, “my soul” a term of endearment in Kazakh  
> баба = grandma (more accurately (because its yuri), “old hag”)
> 
> wrote this while pretty sick so if there's any mistakes please let me know :P thanks for reading <33


	4. you wanna be friends forever?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its been a hot minute for this update...... i dont know how 2 write conflict and so if the end of this chapter seems off i apologize. i was determined to get this out there before this century ended so enjoy!!!

The mug makes a soft clink against the table as Viktor sets it down in front of him, the fragrance of the freshly brewed coffee cutting through the fog of his jetlagged brain. A hand came down to ruffle his hair, making his head snap up from where it was pillowed against his arms. Blinking blearily up at Viktor’s face, he settles for fixing him an accusing stare instead of rasping out a ‘good morning’.

 “Don’t be so dramatic, Yurio,” He’s saying as the boy takes a tentative sip— not as sweet as he usually likes it, but he can’t have that much sugar this close to competitions anyway, “You travel all the time. Your biological clock should be set to Hasetsu time by now.”

“Nnngh,” Yuri manages, rubbing at his eyes. They’d gotten him up so damn _early_ , and for no damn reason too. Everyone else they—the Old Man and the Lesser Yuri— had invited to their little pre-season onsen shindig was scheduled to arrive later today. Not that he was scrambling to greet the likes of  _JJ Leroy_  and other skaters he had neglected to acquaint with during his senior debut. He was only there because the rest of the Russian skating team had dragged him along. He hadn’t been looking forward to being in Hasetsu again, or anything. Not at all.

The onsen was peacefully silent this early in the morning. He grumbled into his mug of coffee, picturing Baba and Georgi happily snoozing away meanwhile the bags under his eyes were steadily forming. He couldn’t imagine why the couple would think to wake him out of all people, he’d be the first to admit he wasn’t sunshine and rainbows… Well, at any time, but certainly not at the asscrack of dawn. The sound of them snickering and whispering to each other outside of the thin door had woken him up, and next thing he knew Viktor was coaxing him down to the dining room with the promise of pancakes. And because he was a creature of simple wants and needs, he took the bait.

Not without noting that those two were  _up to something,_ though.

Yuuri walks in with three plates piled with food, one balancing on his forearm while holding the other two. Although each dish seems perfectly balanced, Viktor rushes up to take one from him.

“Let me help you with that, darling,” He says, the last word smothered by a peck on the lips. Yuri rolls his eyes at his coffee mug, stabbing into his pancakes as soon as they’ve been set before him. Yuuri gives him an easy smile as he takes a seat next to him.

“Still drowsy?” He earns a nod, Yuri's mouth full of sticky carbs, “Thought you might be, after arriving so late last night. I would have let you sleep longer, if it weren’t for…” Viktor not-so-subtly nudges Yuuri with his elbow, giving him a meaningful look when he turns his head, “—For, uh, for Vitya’s appetite! He— He gets so hungry in the morning!” 

Yuri swallows thickly, giving them the most deadpan look as Yuuri blushes and looks to Viktor for support.

“That’s right! I was so excited for Yurio to taste your lovely cooking, too!” Viktor took the slip up with a considerable amount of grace but that didn’t make Yuri any less suspicious. Something was definitely up, but he was exhausted enough and distracted enough by the food that he didn’t mention it. They continued on eating quietly, occasionally they asked him about his training or Dedushka. Inevitably Makkachin came snuffing around, followed by Koji, the smaller poodle the couple had adopted a month ago. He’d seen photos all over Instagram of course, but he was a lot fluffier and cuter in person. He fed the puppy a sliver of bacon under the table. Discreetly. He couldn’t have anyone believing he was anything other than a completely devoted cat lover.

A few minutes went by in peace, the only sounds in the early morning that of silverware clattering against their dishes. Yuri was just planning to hole up in his room with the last of his coffee when a faint knocking could be heard from another room. Makka’s ears perked up while Koji went bounding out of the room to investigate the noise, yipping excitedly. 

“I’ll get it!” Viktor gets up way too quickly, followed by a visibly flustered Yuuri.

“Uh, I’ll, I’ll help!” He stuttered, eager (for some reason) to get out of the room. Yuri narrowed his eyes, suspicion levels rising to unprecedented heights. He tunes in to the sound of the door sliding open just out of view, and of Viktor and Yuuri whispering excitedly to each other. 

What the hell.

Shaking his head, he raises his coffee mug to his lips and slurps as quietly as he can to be able to hear what is happening. Heavy footsteps, and what sounds like the wheels of a rolling suitcase. Weird, he didn’t think anyone else was supposed to arrive this morning— 

“Yura! You have a visitor!” Viktor’s shrill voice overlaps with familiar, deep laughter and Yuri’s slumped over form shoots up.  _Holy shit._

Sliding into the front room on socked feet, he looks up and _there he is, that motherfucker._ That face lights up, grinning like an idiot as soon as Yuri locks eyes with him, clearly pleased with himself for causing such an expression of utter  _shock_ on Yuri’s face. There’s a moment in which no one says anything, then Yuri launches himself at Otabek, heart pounding wildly as the slightly taller man tightens his arms around him.

“YOU ARE SUCH AN ASSHOLE!” The harsh statement is softened somewhat by the fact that he’s clinging to Otabek koala-style. 

“Hello to you too, Yura.” He pulls away to get a good look at him. Not much has changed since last time, and last time was far too long ago. He could almost  _cry._

“You said weren’t coming.” 

“Yeah, well,” Otabek glances over at Viktor and Yuuri, both hiding wide smiles like the scheming bastards they are, “Let’s just say we worked something out.” Yuri can’t even stop himself from laughing, disentangling himself from Otabek and pulling him in for a proper hug. They’re mostly the same height now, perfect for placing his chin in the crook of Beka’s neck, and he can even look him in the eye without tilting his head up when they talk.

“You flew to Hasetsu just to surprise me?” He whispers, “You’re so extra.”

“Only for you.” His breath blows hot into his ear, and Yuri has to suppress a shiver. Now that he’s looking over Otabek’s shoulder he can see out the front door and into the street. Yuri gasps.

“Is that your Harley?” The gleaming machine is sitting out there in all its glory, dusted lightly with fallen snow.

“It’s  _a_ Harley. Shipping a motorcycle overseas gets a little… Tricky, but luckily I was able to find—“ Yuri pulls away and grabs him by leather jacket-covered shoulders.

“Let’s ride. Right now.” He lives for the way Otabek smiles back at him. 

“Somehow I knew you’d say that. Maybe you should put on something a little warmer though, yeah?” Yuri follows his gaze down at his attire, as he realizes he’s still in his pajamas. Even  _his_ Russian ass was not going out in Hasetsu winter wearing loose shorts and a thin hoodie (which was, now that he’s looking at it, definitely Otabek’s at some point. That’s embarrassing.)

“Oh, Yurochka,” Viktor says in a faux-exasperated tone. Him and his pig were standing there for that entire exchange. Red-faced, he grabs Otabek’s hand and the man’s suitcase with the other, pulling them up toward the guest room.

“C’mon, you can unpack in our room while I get ready.” He said, ignoring their wide grins.

“You’re welcome for helping your Beka surprise you!” Viktor adds in a sing song voice.

“I knew he’d like it,” Yuuri whispers.

“Yeah, whatever, thanks,” He grumbles, flushing even more than before. 

_Your Beka._

* * *

A strange feeling washes over him as he realizes they’ll be alone together, in person, for the first time in months. They’ve talked almost weekly on Skype, of course, but that’s different. Talking through a screen has always felt easy, calming. Therapeutic, even. Once the initial excitement of Otabek’s surprise has worn off, this anxiety starts building inside of him and he’s not sure why. Perhaps he forgot what it was like to actually be in his friend’s presence, because his heart doesn’t stop pounding as he walks out to the motorcycle by his side. His mouth is dry as Otabek checks to make sure the helmet is fastened on him correctly, cold fingertips grazing the skin of his throat. 

They both mount the motorcycle and even the engine revving to life doesn’t drown out the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Otabek turns his head and says something a little too quiet to hear.

“What?” 

“You’re gonna have to hold on to me.” Oh, right. Slowly, he slips his arms around Otabek’s waist and closes his eyes. “Just makes you more—“

“Stable, yeah, I… I know.” Why is he so goddamn nervous? They don’t take off immediately, which means Otabek has definitely noticed, but he doesn’t press him. He flips the kickstand up and they ride off. 

Gradually, the tension inside of him starts to loosen as they blaze through the streets of the small town, cold, icy air whipping his cheeks. He wishes he could feel it rustle and blow his hair back, but Otabek would never let him on the bike without a helmet. He had never ridden on a motorcycle before he had met Otabek, but it only took one time for him to fall in love with the entire experience of it. The fact that it gave him an excuse to cling to Beka was an added bonus. Laying his cheek on Otabek’s shoulder blade, he tried to focus on the rumble of the engine below him and the nature blurring by.

They veered off the main road as the oceanside came into view, the water grey and calm under a snowy sky. Coming to a stop just before the sand, Otabek stepped off the bike and turned to help Yuri off, even though they were the same height and these bikes were practically made for shorter builds. Yuri would have sneered and insisted he didn’t need or want any help were it literally anybody else. Instead he indulged him, may have felt his heart flutter when his hand grasped his.

_God,_ he really was turning into one of those sappy old fucks. Only difference was, while they were pathetic and pathetically in love, they at least had each other. They at least had somewhere to  _direct_ their overwhelming emotion for each other. Yuri hadn’t told anyone about his feelings, and he certainly wasn’t telling Otabek. This level of unexpected (but not unwelcome) skin-to-skin contact had him feeling like self-combusting or screaming. More so when Otabek  _didn’t let go of his hand._ He pulled him closer to the water, hand in hand, smiling gently all the while like this was natural. Not wanting to make it weird, he kept quiet, walking alongside him down the shore. 

Staring at this particular moment, when he didn’t know how to fill the silence and Otabek sure wasn’t helping, might be considered inappropriate or at least awkward. He couldn’t help himself. Otabek was  _here_ , and  _real_ , with the morning light catching on his features, stoic as always but he swore there was something softer under that veneer. Something that made Yuri feel all lightheaded and bubbly inside and god he hoped his palm wasn’t getting too sweaty.

Otabek watched intently when Yuri shook his head, smiling and laughing nervously. “What?”

“You got me good.” He almost jumped when Otabek squeezed his hand, at that. He kept his eyes trained on the sand. “I really thought I wasn’t gonna see you until our next competition.” 

Otabek didn’t reply to that, simply nodding in understanding. He knew better than most people how deeply and passionately Yuri felt despite his prickly attitude. He'd been asking to talk to Yuri more often than usual when he left from his visit in Almaty. Their conversations never strayed from the usual, but Yuri could tell his friend was trying to lift his spirits. 

He couldn’t blame him. If Otabek had cried on his shoulder before boarding his flight back to home, he’d be reasonably concerned too. That didn’t make it any less embarrassing, or make him wonder any less why Otabek dealt with his emotional bullshit all the time. 

“I’m glad I finally came to see it.” Otabek spoke quietly, looking out over the horizon.

“Hasetsu?”

“Mm. It’s exactly like you told me it was.” 

“Quaint? Devoid of good wi-fi?” He smirked, leaning into his arm.

“Beautiful.” 

“Oh.” They had stopped walking, but Yuri was too captivated by the sight of the sunlight hitting Otabek’s profile as he gazed wistfully out to sea to even notice. 

That gaze burned straight through his soul as it turned back to him. “But the place isn’t really what I came for.” Yuri’s eyes widened, the weight of the hand in his seeming to increase tenfold. 

Calm down, he thought, over the sound of his thumping heart.  _He doesn’t mean it the way you think he does. Not the way you want it to._  

And still he swore those sunlight eyes were searching his face for something, settling on his lips with a look of— 

_A look of_ — 

His phone started vibrating violently inside his pocket, his knee jerk reaction being to yank his hand out of Otabek’s grasp and answer it. The action felt like tripping without breaking your fall, like a rubber band snapping. He held the phone to his ear, face hot and hands clammy. Otabek cleared his throat and looked away, calmly slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Um. Hi,” Yuri hoped whoever it was could  _hear_  the frown on his face. 

“ _Yurio! Tell Otabek to have you back by lunchtime! You missed everyone else arriving_ ,” Viktor said. At his amused tone Yuri realized how long they’d been out. His frown only deepened, suddenly feeling like a child out past curfew, which was ridiculous because Viktor was  _not-his-dad, how many times do I have to say it_. 

“We’ll be back when we’re back.” He grunted.

“ _We’re having katsudon._ ”

“... I’ll see you in ten minutes.” He hung up, quickly looking back at Otabek, hoping they’d go right back to this little moment they were having. “Um—“

“Lunch, right?” He was already walking back to the bike. 

Yuri bit his lip, shoving his hands into his pockets and trudging after him. “Yeah.”

* * *

The smell of pork cutlet bowl wafted in from the kitchen, permeating the house. Many of the other skaters were already sitting with steaming bowls when they walked in, hair mussed from the wind and their helmets, noses red with the cold. 

Viktor was sitting and chatting excitedly between Yuuri and Chris. Aside from them were several other skaters at the table, who he could only name if he had the energy to remember. Phichit, Yuuri’s friend, was among them, and he was pretty sure one of them was named Leo but he wasn’t sure which one. 

Mila, Georgi and Yakov lounged on the couch watching or attempting to watch canadian football, the culprit being Shithead Leroy Supreme, obviously. He was telling Mila amiably about the members of the team this season and he was sure she was only nodding and looking sufficiently invested out of courtesy. Who invited that guy anyway? 

Viktor must have seen them looking lost at the door way and waved them over. Yuri noticed immediately that the two seats left over weren’t next to each other. It wasn’t like he needed to sit next to Beka, but despite that he felt himself deflate a little.

The guy who he was pretty sure was Leo looked up suddenly and scooted a seat down, followed by a smaller boy with freckles.

“Oh, you guys didn’t have to move.” Otabek said politely when Yuri failed to respond. 

Probably-Leo waved a hand at him and smiled, “I’ll let you sit next to your boyfriend.” Yuri almost slipped out of his chair as he sat down. 

“Yura and I aren’t dating,” Otabek said without missing a beat. The astonished silence in the room was near deafening.

“Wait, what?” Came a certain obnoxious voice from behind the couch. “Beks, I totally thought— Wow.” 

Only Yuri could have caught the twitch in Otabek’s brow. 

“Yeah, me too.” Leo said, looking more apologetic than surprised. “That’s my bad, dude.”

“You’re fine.” Otabek said, picking up his silverware. All around were raised eyebrows or looks of either confusion or skepticism. Did… Did everyone think they were dating?!

“Yura’s been unusually quiet.” It was Chris chiming in this time, leaning his chin on his hand. He stressed the extra vowel in his name, as if mimicking the way Beka had said it many times before.

His face flushed as the attention turned to him. Fuck.

“We’re just friends. What more is there to say?” Was it just him, or did Otabek…Cringe at that? He let himself linger on his friend’s facial expression, searching for answers but coming up only with more questions. 

That seemed to solve the confusion for eveyone else, though, most nodding and going back to their food and chatter. When he looked up, Yuuri and Viktor were giving each other knowing looks.

“Still thought they were together. Can’t believe...” JJ muttered in awe. Yuri bared his teeth but didn’t comment.

The room was alive and bright with excitement but Yuri couldn’t help but feel tension between him and the person he sat next to. Socializing was never either of their cup of tea, but Otabek would usually share random thoughts with him or say something pithy about someone else in Russian so only Yuri would understand.  

They never made eye contact the entire meal.

* * *

 Otabek had wanted to turn in early from all of the festivities that night, complaining of jetlag. It felt more like he was just trying to get away from Yuri, but he wasn’t going to let him get away that easy, following him up the staircase to their shared guestroom. He flipped the switch, revealing a small but cozy room, and a double bed with crisp white linens.

“There’s only one bed?” Otabek said. Turning quickly Yuri saw that he had stopped at the threshhold of their shared room. He couldn't tell if he was troubled, or annoyed, or _what_. It had been hard to read his expressions the whole night, which was hardly a good sign.

“Uh, yeah?” Sharing a bed was pretty much standard procedure for the two of them, and of course Viktor and Yuuri had assumed that when setting up for all of their visitors. Or maybe they just thought they were dating, like everyone else. 

Shifting uncomfortably against the doorframe, Otabek said slowly, “… You’re okay with sharing?” The question stung more than it should have.

“Of course I am!” He said, more aggressively than intended. Toning it down a bit, he added, “If— If you want to, I mean.” God, this was so awkward. Why was this situation suddenly so awkward?

Otabek just nodded abruptly, and that was the cue for them to get settled in for the night. It took all but four minutes of this strained, tense silence before he broke and blurted out what he wanted to say, interrupting Otabek as he was gingerly peeling back the covers and sliding in next to him but not  _too_ next to him. “You would tell me if there was anything wrong, right?”

The wide-eyed look Otabek gave him made Yuri want to smack himself in the face. Damn his brain-to-mouth filter, or lack thereof. As if to completely contrast him, Otabek took a few moments formulating a response, his eyebrows drawn close together.

“Yes, Yura, I would.” He propped himself up on his elbow, angling his body toward him. 

Yuri tilted his head, hair falling over his face. “Then why does it feel like you’re not telling me something?” Which was pretty rich coming from his ass, who was definitely not letting slip his gigantic crush on his best friend, but he had to figure out why Otabek was so off. He picked at a loose thread on the pillowcase while Otabek took a long, slow breath, closing his eyes. Like he was bracing himself.

“To be honest, I don’t think we feel the same way about each other anymore.”

Yuri just stared at him for a long time, replaying the sentence over and over in his head, wracking it for any possible meanings. Unfortunately, he landed on the worst one possible.

His uneven breathing brought to Otabek’s attention his glossy eyes, his trembling lips. “Y-you…” Yuri’s voice wobbled, “You don’t want to be friends anymore?”

At the strained sound of his voice Otabek’s hands flew up to cup his cheeks, shaking his head vehemently. “No, no , no, that’s not what I meant—“

Yuri clutched the other man’s fingers, struggling to form words between breaths, “What— did I do something  _wrong_ —“ Fresh tears were swiped away by warm fingers before they even had the chance to slide past his cheeks. Otabek shushed him, caressing his face like that for a few minutes. He wasn’t getting through to him until he stopped freaking out.

“Shh, calm down. Shh.” Yuri could tell his face was red and hot under Otabek’s hands, both from being embarrassed and out of breath. Once his breathing slowed down, Otabek loosened his hold but let his hand rest on his cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Yuri sniffled. The dread from thinking he was being friend-dumped was quickly replaced with dread from messy-crying in front of him. Again. The pity in Otabek’s eyes was enough to make Yuri want to sink straight through the matress and into the bottom floor. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but was clearly waiting for Yuri to compose himself.

“Then why have you been acting so weird?” His voice was hoarse, even if he was only crying for all of two minutes. Otabek hesitated. What was he so afraid of saying?

“Our friendship means a lot to me, you know that.” He kept smoothing down his hair as he said this, the repetitive motion soothing his nerves but only slightly. There’s a pause, as if he’s asking Yuri if he understands. Yuri nods tentatively for him to go on, though he is being ambiguous as fuck. “I don’t want to ruin what we have. I’m sorry if I seem distant, but I just don’t want to lose you, Yura.”

Pulling away from his comforting touch is difficult, but he manages in order to get a good look at his friend’s face. “What makes you think that would ever happen?”

Otabek just shakes his head, chewing on his lip. “I...” There he goes, avoiding his eyes again. "It’s complicated.”

“Then tell me.” Yuri leans forward, placing a hand on his wrist that he hopes is more reassuring than pushy. If something’s wrong, he wants to know. 

“You don’t want that. You’d never look at me the same again.”

He’s scowling properly now, grip tightening on Otabek’s wrist. “Don’t talk about yourself like that! There’s nothing you could say to me that would change how I feel about you.” Otabek grimaces at that, despite the intent being to encourage him.

_Shit. Did I let too much slip there?_ The moments tick on by, second to agonizing second. Each of them is waiting for the other to give. Otabek finally sighs and looks up at him.

“This probably makes me sound like a shit friend and super suspicious. Hell, I’ve already dug myself a hole talking this much.” Yuri squints at him but lets him finish. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the answer you want right now. I’m not ready to tell you, and that’s the end of it.”

He could sit there and pepper him with questions, tap at that stoic mask until every piece that chips off reveals another secret, say that what are friends for except to tell each other everything (in which case he’d be a grade A hypocrite). But Yuri doesn’t. It’s late, and he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to think about what his best friend could possibly be hiding from him. Just going through the possibilities makes his head pulse.

“Okay… Okay. Just promise that you don’t secretly hate me, or something.” It’s worrying how relieved Otabek looks, once he knows Yuri isn’t going to fight him on this. Yuri pitches forward, slumping against his chest. The tension in the room dissipates as Otabek chuckles, lowering his head to the pillows.

“I could never hate you _жаным_.” His eyelids get heavier as Otabek flips the lamp off and pulls the covers up, cocooning them.

After a few minutes of lying there in the dark, Yuri speaks tentatively, loud enough for him to hear if he’s wake, quiet enough not to disturb him if he’s already asleep. He’s weirdly vulnerable and timid when he’s sleepy.

“Please don’t leave me.” He murmurs. The sheets shift around him, rustling quietly. Then he feels it, a soft, warm press to his forehead. The bumps and ridges of knuckles trailing down the side of his face. 

Yuri isn’t awake long enough to hear his answer, but he knows it even without hearing it. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi go listen to sleepover by hayley kiyoko for the general vibe of this trainwreck of a fic thnk u :P


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